Lies, Dies
by Citizen Cane
Summary: As in everybody does. Chase and Foreman talking about House, after the events in the finale. Nothing spectacular, just something to help me process my own thoughts. Read, review, and enjoy.


Robert Chase had never seen his name look as foreign as when he watched the janitor apply it to the glass of the see-through Diagnostics wing door. The door to _his_ office, now. There had been a lump in his throat since the phone call from Foreman and he swallowed it back with a set jaw when the straight razor started to scrape away the only trace that Gregory House had ever existed at Princeton-Plainsboro. That wasn't really true though, was it?

He had to question himself as he ran his fingers along the desk, over the critter skull and towards the tell-tale red and grey ball. Holding it, he knew- House would never really fade from memory, even if it wasn't his name on the door anymore. Chase wasn't ready to change the office as Foreman had so willingly converted Cuddy's but he also didn't plan on running his department out of a memorial. Still, the department was House's, had been created specifically for his genius; without House there was no Diagnostics. Some crappy plastic lettering wasn't needed for people to know that.

He sat carefully and leaned back, turning the ball in his hands as he looked over the final bits of clutter House left behind- a few WaWa receipts, some chickenscratch notes to himself…surprisingly mundane scraps of insignificance from what was the most brilliant mind Chase had ever had the honor of knowing. Was it an honor, though?

Not always.

He threw the ball against the wall lightly, leaning to his left to catch the rebound and let his eyes continue wandering around the office as if seeing it- _truly_ seeing it- for the first time. All the books he probably knew by heart, the record collection unmatched, hell even the Scotch he knew had to be stashed: left bottom desk drawer, under a stack of files that were really cheat code print-outs for the Xbox 360. Checking for himself, Chase then set the bottle on the desk and placed the ball back on its white plate as if it would shatter if he wasn't gentle. He took up House's red mug and seemed to know instantly that he would be keeping it, pouring a little of the scotch for himself. It was warm on his tongue and burned down his throat but he smiled- it was House to a t. Off-putting at first but after a while it wasn't so bad, you got used to it, and even had a little fun. Chase leaned back enough to swing his feet up onto the desk and held the mug still on his stomach while he watched the ceiling and processed his thoughts, lost in them by the time Foreman slipped in.

"Lettering looks nice," he said softly, not wanting to startle the Australian.

"It does." Chase answered airily, without moving.

"No rush but let me know what you want to get rid of so I can have a cleaning crew here."

Chase nodded and stared a while longer before letting his feet drop and sitting up in the chair. He sipped from the mug while nudging the bottle towards Foreman.

"Appreciate it. All the same, reckon I'll leave it as is. Just for a little while."

Foreman inspected the label before taking a swig from the bottle and moved to sit on the edge of the desk.

"That's fine, too. Whatever you want to do, man. Your department, now."

"Thanks for that."

Chase lifted the mug in a salute before taking another sip, wincing at the alcohol's sting.

"For the call, I mean. For the job."

Foreman lifted the bottle to return the salute but didn't drink from it.

"There's nobody else who could do it."

"We'll see."

The two sat in silence, as they had the previous night with the drinks they met to talk House and business over but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything it was just quiet respect being paid for the room of a man that changed their lives forever, for better or worse, whether they wanted him to or not. They were honoring the catalyst.

"As your boss I'm supposed to tell you about the grief counseling we offer, but…as your friend…"

Foreman turned to set the bottle down and stood.

"…I'm just gonna tell you he'd be proud."

"Chase smirked but scoffed, turning the mug idly.

"Proud, yeh. That's House all over."

"I'm serious."

Foreman chuckled, starting for the door.

"He rode your ass because he cared. Don't make it more complicated than that."

"It is more complicated than that, though."

Chase set the empty mug aside and rested his forearms on the desk.

"I mean the guy was an _arse_. Everybody's mourning this…this miserable, anti-social junkie, and…and…"

"Hey."

Foreman's voice held authority but no hostility and he waited until their eyes met to continue.

"I'm gonna miss him too. Keep the department running, continue his work. That's how we remember him, all right?"

Chase had stopped himself from breaking down when Foreman's voice coaxed him away from the verge, looking up with uncertainty in his glassy eyes. He held gazes briefly before distracting himself by looking around House's desk again. After a silent moment, he nodded.

"Right."

Foreman was going to take his leave as quietly as he'd entered and leave Chase alone to finish examining the office but was halfway down the hallway when he doubled back, lingering in the door way.

"Chase." He waited for the other doctor to look up before tossing him the little plastic ID tag he had been debating on whether or not to tell anybody about.

Chase caught it and turned it rightside up to see that it was House's, brow furrowing in confusion. He held it up and pointed at it.

"What the hell is this for? Not like he's going to need it…House is dead."

Foreman could only smirk.

"Everybody lies."


End file.
